


Don't Read the Comments

by Husaria



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 16:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Husaria/pseuds/Husaria
Summary: Victor Nikiforov's always nice to his fans and to the media, they say - unless, it turns out, any of them says anything about Yuuri's GPF silver being a mere fluke.  Then he verbally rips apart that person with a perfect smile on his lips.Yuuri Katsuki is shy and soft-spoken and doesn't look like he's even capable of raising his voice.  Until a (poor, foolish) interviewer makes the mistake of saying somewhat derogatory comments about Victor right to his face.  And then... oh boy.Written for the Viktuuri Reverse Bang 2018.





	Don't Read the Comments

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here is my written piece for the 2018 Viktuuri Reverse Bang!
> 
> The fic is based on a prompt by rin-le, who also drew amazing art that accompanies the fic. [Go check it out here!](http://rin-le.tumblr.com/post/174748091764/posting-the-drawings-for-my-and-lithuaniass-yoi)

“You’re on in one!”

“Makeup’s done!”

“Is your mic working?”

“It’s fine, sir.”

“Would you like some water before you go on?”

“I’m not thirsty yet, but thank you.”

“You’ve been on the show before. You know the drill.”

“Of course.”

_“Thirty.”_

“Oh dear, you have some dust on your jacket!”

“You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I assure you I’m fine.”

“Now if you can stand here, sir—”

“Okay, you’re in position.”

_“—Three, two one—”_

“Now, ladies and gentleman, please welcome Olympic figure skating champion and winner of  _five_  World Championships and Grand Prix Finals, Victor Nikiforov!”

Victor jogged onto the stage, flashing a big smile while the audience cheered and clapped. He turned to face them, waving briefly, and sat down in the leather chair opposite his host’s desk, folding one leg over the other.

“Victor Nikiforov.” Vasilieva shook Victor’s hand, smiling as wide as him. “It’s an honor to have you back on my show.”

“It’s always a pleasure to be with you, Natalya Vasilieva,” Victor purred. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other in so long.”

“Since Sochi, I think.”

“Has it been two years?”

“And you’ve left Russia for almost half of it.”

“I wasn’t too far. I was just six time zones away from Moscow.”

The audience chuckled.

“I’m guessing you’re thrilled to be back in Russia.”

“I am. I-I mean, I adored Japan and the people there, but it’s not quite the same you know.”

“Especially since you didn’t compete at all next year!”

“We love you, Victor Nikiforov!” some woman shouted in the audience.

“And I love you too,” Victor responded.

The audience cheered.

“Did you miss being off the ice?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. You could say I love skating.”

The audience chuckled.

“Now, how was the experience different as a coach and a competitor?” Vasilieva tapped the pen on her desk. “I don’t think you’ve ever had experience as a coach before this.”

Victor shook his head. “I have not. Yuuri Katsuki was my first student.”

“Tell us.” Vasilieva leaned forward intently. “Was he a  _bad_  student?”

Victor, along with the audience, laughed. “No, no, I would not give him a one. I would give him a solid five out of five.”

“For your first student, winning silver at the Grand Prix is no small feat.”

“Indeed.” Victor beamed inside and out. “I am extremely proud of Yuuri.”

“At any rate, we are  _very_  excited to hear that  _you_  will be returning to skating,” said Vasilieva. “The competition looked rather lonely without you this year.”

“I’m sorry you felt that way.”

“Katsuki doing your specialties was not…quite enough. It’s not  _Victor_.”

“I feel that he executed them well within his own style.”

“Will you continue your coaching duties this year as well?”

“There hasn’t been any change on that front. I’m not sure how many of you know this, but Yuuri  _has_  moved from Japan to St. Petersburg with me. I fully intend to continue coaching him.”

“So you will continue coaching him in Russia?”

“For the most part, yes. We’re going to be heading to Japan in a few weeks to visit his family, and I’ll coach him there as well.”

The audience murmured.

“Do you believe that Yuuri Katsuki can make it to the Grand Prix Final twice in a row?”

“I have faith that Yuuri will win a gold medal at the Grand Prix Final next year.”

“Really?” Vasilieva sat back in her chair. “He took silver this year  _with_  your coaching. You believe he can reach gold  _with_  you  _and_  Plisetsky in the competition?”

“I have full faith in his ability to win gold.”

“Two seasons ago he finished in last place.”

“Like the ratings for your show now?”

A few groans, and then the audience roared with laughter. A slight blush came to Vasilieva’s face as she chuckled along with the audience.

“You’ve definitely got me there,” said Vasilieva, daggers in her eyes.

* * *

“How did the recording go?”

“Well…” Victor slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, rubbing the space between his eyes.

_“Aeroflot Flight SU24 to St. Petersburg is now boarding—”_

“Let’s just say that I’m not going to be invited back to her show again.” He stood up and headed toward the mass of people crowding the gate.

“What?!” exclaimed Yuuri. “What happened?”

“She was very rude.”

“Oh…! Was she rude to  _you_?”

“Yes, indirectly. And if she doesn’t invite me, I’m alright with that.”

“It went  _that_  badly? Isn't her show one of the most popular ones in Russia? I thought you two were friends.”

“Yes, in my opinion.” Victor mulled telling Yuuri the reason why. He didn’t want to share it with him over the phone, but he couldn’t have Yuuri find out by watching the interview.

“That sounds awful.”

“How’s Makkachin doing?” asked Victor quickly. “Was he alright without me?”

“He whined the first few hours, but he’s calm now. I showed him some pictures of you, and that seemed to help.”

Victor sighed. “Thank you. You know I hate to leave him. He’s an older dog.”

“I know,” said Yuuri. “When do you land?”

“In about an hour and a half.” Victor sat down, putting his messenger bag underneath the seat in front of him. “So I can be at home in around…two hours depending on traffic?”

“We can meet you at arrivals! I just need to check bus schedules.”

Victor chuckled. “Yuuri, I parked my car at the airport. It would be more trouble for you to come to the airport.”

“I’ll still be there! I need to get Makkachin up. He’s being really sleepy. Makkachin, get up!” Makkachin barked and shook himself, his tags clinking.

Victor smiled. “I’ll see you when I land. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Victor checked his social media. His last Instagram post was submitted less than two hours ago and included a cheerful selfie of him and Vasilieva backstage at her studio before the show.

_“Just got out of an interview with my good friend Natalya Vasilieva. Catch me on her show in a few weeks!”_

It had already accumulated 1,000 likes and multiple comments in Russian.

He ordered a shot of vodka. Telling Yuuri about  _this_  was harder than any constructive criticism he had given him.

After exiting the gate, Victor saw Yuuri and Makkachin at arrivals.

“Victor!”

Yuuri flung himself into Victor’s arms. “I missed you,” he murmured.

“I was only—” Victor stopped himself. “I missed you too.”

Makkachin circled around them and wagged his tail.

“Makkachin! Were you a good boy with Yuuri?” said Victor, kneeling down to his level. Makkachin barked.

“I’m glad you’re out of that studio,” said Yuuri. “What happened?”

“Ah, let’s discuss that in the car.”

The smile on Yuuri’s face faded, and he nodded. “Of course.”

After a small search for Victor’s car in the lot (“I parked it  _this_  morning, of  _course_  I know where it is.”), Victor battled through Muscovian evening rush hour.

“What exactly happened during filming?” Yuuri said. “I saw your Instagram post. You both looked happy.”

Victor sighed. “It was a disaster.”

“Why? Did they get your makeup wrong or something?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Time to bite the bullet. “We started talking about my return to competitive skating and my coaching…”

“And…?”

“We started talking about you. Vasilieva…questioned  _why_  I was coaching you in the first place.”

“She wondered… _why_  you were coaching me…” Yuuri said slowly. “Did you tell her why?  _I_  was confused why you started coaching me.”

“It wasn’t  _that_  kind of questioning. She implied that you weren’t worthy of being coached by me.”

Yuuri blinked. “She said  _what_?”

“She questioned why I would consider coaching you again if you just won a silver at the Grand Prix Final.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, and he looked on the verge of tears. “Wh-wha…?”

“I didn’t let her get away with it. You’ll see on the show, hopefully.” Victor turned a street. “I just hope they don’t edit it out.”

“I  _will_  win gold!” said Yuuri. “And you’ll coach me.”

“I will, and you will. Just…” Victor shook his head. “She and I have been friends for years. I can’t believe she would say something like that.”

“Does she really think that way?” Yuuri said.

“I don’t know.” Victor scanned his key fob into his building’s parking garage. “I didn’t get a chance to speak with her after the show.”

“She didn’t come and talk with you?”

“I don’t know. I left after we took the Instagram picture.”

“You left?”

“I was too angry to talk with her. I don’t think she wanted to talk either.”

“Oh…”

Victor parked the car, and all three of them got out.

“Come on, Makkachin. Time to go back home.”

Makkachin barked and bounded into the elevator, putting his two front paws on Victor’s chest.

Victor pressed the button for their floor and kneeled down to Makkachin’s level. “You’re a good dog, aren’t you? Yes, you—”

Victor became acutely aware that Yuuri hadn’t said a word said they left the car.

“Yuuri?” He stood up. “Are you alright?”

Yuuri wasn’t looking at him, and it looked like he had retreated into his large, puffy jacket. “I’m fine. I guess I should have seen this coming.”

“What? I’ve known Vasilieva since I started skating professionally, and  _I_  couldn’t have predicted—”

“It’s not about Vasilieva,” said Yuuri shortly. “Think about it. You’re one of the best skaters alive  _today_ —”

“As are you.”

“I got last place in the Grand Prix Final two years ago—”

“Making it to the Grand Prix Final is a huge accomplishment for any skater.”

“Please just listen.”

The elevator door opened, and they found themselves at the door to Victor’s penthouse apartment. Victor unlocked the door.

“It  _does_  make sense that she’d think that way. I mean…” Yuuri sat down on the sofa, his shoulders slumped. Makkachin bounded to his water bowl.

“Yuuri…” Victor joined him and put an arm around his shoulder. “You  _are_  good enough for me, no matter what Vasilieva or any other stupid person says.”

Yuuri said nothing.

“I’ve  _seen_  you skate. You’re a wonderful skater, and I can’t imagine a better student.” Victor’s eyes softened. “Please don’t take this woman’s words to heart. She knows very little about skating.”

Yuuri sighed. “It’s hard not to.”

“Some people just don’t understand, and clearly Vasilieva doesn’t. The only way to prove her wrong would be to win gold at the Grand Prix Final, and I have faith that you can.”

Yuuri smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Makkachin barked and trotted over to Yuuri, water dripping down his muzzle. He put his head on Yuuri’s lap.

“See, Makkachin believes in you too!”

Makkachin barked again.

“He does!”

Yuuri laughed. “Okay, okay!”

Victor got up. “I tell you what. I feel so dirty after all that traveling today. Would you care to join me in a bath?”

Yuuri stood up. “I will. Thank you.”

All three of them went into the bathroom.

Less than half a minute later, Victor set Makkachin down outside the door.

“Sorry, but we want a little alone time.”

* * *

Victor had done countless interviews for print and television throughout his entire career. The first interview had brought jitters and butterflies to his stomach. After the tenth, fiftieth, one-hundredth one, those feelings had vanished. He normally never watched them again after he had given them. Occasionally, he’d watch or watch to see if the editing had shown the particular bias of a channel. But as time went on, interviewing became as much a part of life as skating.

Yet with this one, the butterflies returned. Perhaps it was because it was one of the more confrontational interviews he had given or the fact that the most heated moment involved a discussion about Yuuri. Needless to say, Victor waited for the interview with anxiety. While they had maintained a cordial relationship since his first interview with her in the beginning of his career, he heard absolutely nothing from Vasilieva or her crew since his last visit.

So now he had sat on the couch with his phone in one hand, keeping an eye on the social media reaction to this. Victor had filled a champagne glass with vodka and orange juice. “Are you ready to watch the interview?”

“That’s tonight, right?” Yuuri sat down next to him. “To be honest, part of me  _is_  interested in what you told her.”

“Then you should watch it!” Victor took a sip of his screwdriver. He would have gone for a more intricate recipe but he was in the mood for a simple drink today. “There’s alcohol in the kitchen if you’re interested.”

“I don’t think I’ll drink while watching this.” Yuuri’s eyes furrowed. This whole situation had clearly made him uncomfortable.

“It’ll be fine.”

Victor finished his glass and rested it on the small table next to the couch. He stretched across the sofa, putting his head in Yuuri’s lap.

“I’m intrigued by this,” said Yuuri. He put his fingers in Victor’s hair. “I just realized that I won’t be able to understand a word in this interview. It’s in Russian.” At this revelation, Yuuri’s body relaxed.

Victor blinked. “How could I forget….Ah, I mean, you can certainly pick out words here and there.”

“Can you translate the most important parts?”

They watched as the opening for Vasilieva’s show came on and the interview began. Yuuri’s expression switched from a relaxed one to curious at the repeated mention of his name to horrified at the growing insistence in their voices.

_“Two seasons ago he finished in last place.”_

_“Like the ratings for your show now?”_

Yuuri’s mouth hung open at the exchanged as the audience roared with laughter and Vasilieva seethed.

“I-I…What did you tell her?”

Victor translated the lines.

Yuuri’s face went beet-red as the interview continued.

“V-Victor, you didn’t have to do this.”

“But I  _had_  to. I’ve told you, I couldn’t just sit there and let her  _slander_  you.”

“I  _think_  it’s calmed down now. But, Victor…”

“What?”

“Our social media feeds are going to be a disaster,” groaned Yuuri.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Victor’s segment of the interview had ended and Vasilieva’s next guest appeared—a famous hockey player playing for an American team.

“Well, that looked…Interesting,” said Yuuri.

“Do you want me to translate the entire segment for you?”

“I-I think I heard enough.”

Victor turned off the television. “Are you alright?”

“Oh?” said Yuuri. “I’m fine. I just…” Yuuri shook his head in disbelief. “You…told her off.”

“I did!” exclaimed Victor. “Now you see why I had more

“Huh? I got a message from Yurio.” Yuuri opened his text app and smiled awkwardly. “‘Victor must really like you.’” He blushed. “W-Well…”

“People are fighting over Instagram about this,” said Victor with a grin. As soon as the interview aired, he muted the notifications so that his phone could have some peace. Still, he couldn’t help but look at his account and hashtags related to the interview.

“Most of them are supportive!” exclaimed Victor.

“I—” Yuuri opened his Instagram app. “Uhhh, can you read these?”

“What is it?” Victor craned his neck to get a better look at Yuuri’s phone.

Underneath Yuuri’s latest Instagram picture was a series of several comments in Russian by various other users. A few of them were supportive.

But most of them were not.

Victor grimaced. “Ugh. Have you shut off notifications for Instagram?” he said.

“Always.”

Victor scrolled down to the comments on Yuuri’s latest photo. “Because you’re getting an influx of Russian commenters on your pictures.”

“I saw that. Can you translate some of them for me, please?”

_“Go back to Japan.”_

_“Why are you here? Victor deserves a better student.”_

_“Who do you think you are?”_

“What are they saying?”

“They’re not the most polite of people.”

A few of them had moved on from the Russian language and had begun posting in English or Google translated Japanese. These translations attracted attention from Yuuri’s Japanese fans. Victor, of course, could not read Japanese, but the various emojis indicated that they were laughing at the Google translated Japanese.

“Let’s not worry about them. The interview will blow over in a few days’ time.”

The fighting on Yuuri’s and Victor’s Instagram quickly became so vicious that it bled over to their Twitters.

“Should…should we say something about this?” said Yuuri. “The Japanese comments…”

“We should just let it be,” said Victor. He shifted his head so that it was more comfortable in Yuuri’s lap. “I doubt that the media will pick it up or anything absurd.”

It did not blow over in a few days’ time.

After a day of skating practice, Victor sat on his couch in his pajamas as he normally did. He rechecked and flipped through the Aeroflot app, checking in for three seats the next day: Yuuri, him, and of course, Makkachin. The both of them have stayed in Russia for too long; Yuuri needed to visit his family and train in Hasetsu before the Japanese regionals. It would be nice to get away after the social media backlash.

His phone buzzed.

“What’s this about the Vasilieva interview?” Yakov text messaged him. “Plisetsky told me about it. What did you do?”

“Did you not watch it?” Victor laid back and crossed his legs.

“I’m your coach, not your PR manager.”

“So that’s a no.”

“Is this going to affect your performance?”

“It’s just a social media mess. As long as you don’t feed it, it’ll be fine.”

“It’s getting worse than that Victor.”

Yakov sent that message and continued to type. However, the conversation with Yakov vanished on his screen. It was an incoming call from Yurio.

Huh. He never called.

“Hellooooo.”

“Can you call your fans off of me?”

Victor sat up. “What?”

Makkachin whined and put his paw on Victor’s knee.

“They’re swarming my social media page. Where’s Yuuri?”

Victor looked over at the closed door across the room. “He’s Skyping with his family. We’re going to Japan tomorrow. Why?”

“For some reason, they’re all  _swarming_  all over  _my_  social media accounts talking about how I’d never do anything like what you’re doing with Yuuri or some crap like that. It’s all because of that damn Vasilieva interview that aired a few days ago.”

“People are still talking about that?”

“Christ, have you not looked anywhere online?!”

“Not since the day the interview aired.” Worried, Victor pulled out his laptop so he can search the Internet while still talking to Yurio. The comments appeared to have returned with an increased vitriol not seen since the interview aired. Didn’t these people have lives?

“You need to say  _something_!”

“Also, did you mention this to Yakov?”

“So what if I did? The comments are annoying—”

Victor scoffed. “Just ignore them.”

“It’s gotten worse.”

“I’m seeing them.” He read some of them. “Wait, someone made a remix of the interview on YouTube?” The link tempted him, but he pressed the back button, back to the comments. Victor clicked out of the browser window; it was getting too intense.

“Probably because of that stupid article.”

Victor ceased all typing. “…What article?”

“Yakov didn’t tell you about it? Some reporter asked for a statement from him. He told him to fuck off. Did anyone try to contact  _you_?”

“I told you. I’ve…I’ve been offline for the past couple of days.”

“Are you fucking with—” Victor heard some yelling on the other line. “Okay, shit, I have to go. Fans recognized me. Bye.”

_“Poka.”_

Victor put his phone down, looking flabbergasted at his blank computer screen.

“What was that about?”

Victor shook his head briefly. Yuuri had exited the other room, laptop under his shoulder.

“Did you finish talking with your parents?” Victor asked.

“Were you talking with Yurio?”

“Yes. He’s doing well.”

“But Yurio never calls …”

“No…”

“And you didn’t look too happy. Is everything alright?”

Victor opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. “Remember the Vasilieva interview?”

“Not  _that_  again.”

Yuuri set his laptop down on his coffee table and sat next to Victor, his head in his hands.

“You said this was going to blow over in a few days!”

“I’m normally good at predicting social media tides!” Victor exclaimed in exasperation. “I didn’t expect it to blow up like this.”

“What’s happened now? Did the episode re-air?”

“No…” Victor re-opened his laptop. “Yurio told me that some news site published an article about it.”

“About the  _interview_? You told me—”

“I know what I said,” Victor said hotly. “But I don’t know  _where_  this article is or who it’s from—”

“I can’t believe that article  _exists_.”

Victor did the easiest thing to find the article. He googled his name. The article showed up as the first link on Google.

“I found it,” he said. He clicked on the link.

Yuuri suddenly stood up, his mouth slightly open. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“It’s only 9:30.”

“We have a flight tomorrow.”

“At noon.”

Yuuri stood up. “I’m tired.”

“Yuuri.” Victor closed the laptop again. “What’s the matter? Is it the article?”

“You told me everything would be fine!”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea that this would happen.”

He followed Yuuri into their room.

Makkachin padded to the other side of the room, lifting his front paws slightly off the ground and whimpering at Yuuri’s side.

“Does all of Russia think this?”

“No!” exclaimed Victor. “Of course not.” He sighed. “We talked about this after I came back from Moscow. We had this exact same conversat—”

“Enough people are thinking it for it to be published in the  _news_.”

“It was written by a quack!” said Victor. “Clearly. Darling, you are a  _much_  better skater than anyone in Russian media believes. You were  _second_ last year, and I won’t rest until you’re first.”

“I know, I know that you believe in me. But it doesn’t make this easier.” Yuuri sat at the foot of the bed and took a deep breath. “You know how I can get.”

Victor sighed. Everyone knew what happened to Yuuri after the Grand Prix Final two years ago.

“I know.” He took Yuuri’s gentle hand in his. “It’ll all be better after tomorrow. We’ll be in Japan.”

Yuuri smiled. “Thank you.”

Makkachin jumped onto the bed and into Yuuri’s lap, his paw smacking right between—

“OW!”

* * *

In his plane seat, Victor took a selfie with Makkachin and Yuuri behind him and uploaded it with the caption,  _“On the way back to Japan! Can’t wait to meet my Japanese fans.”_  He added a heart eyes emoji and the Japanese flag. He closed the app before the comments started flying in.

“Nikiforov!” some young woman and a group of friends whispered from the front of the plane. Victor smiled and waved. He loved fans. The young women squealed.

“Can we take a selfie with you?” the first woman exclaimed come up the aisle.

“Yes, yes, of course!”

The group of three crowded around Victor and Yuuri’s row and slipped into the row in front of them. Makkachin barked and wagged his tail from the middle seat. From the various screens pulled out, Victor couldn’t see Yuuri anywhere in them.

“Yuuri, where—?”

“Katsuki!” one of the girls exclaimed. “Get Yuuri Katsuki into the photo too. Come on, Yuuri!”

Victor pulled a confused Yuuri into the frame with Makkachin’s head underneath the two of them.

“Thank you so much!”

“Good luck next year!”

“We love you!”

“Please move, you’re holding up the line!”

Victor smiled after the group passed. “They were nice,” he said.

Yuuri chuckled. “We’ve been training so much. I kind of forgot what it’s like to have people run up to you for selfies.”

“We’re going back to Japan.” Victor flipped through the entertainment on his screen. “You’re going to get all of the attention.”

“Still? I’m not sure.”

Victor turned to look at him, leaving the screen on a Disney movie. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” said Yuuri. “Just a bit nervous, I guess.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll be leaving Russia, and you’ll be back in Japan with your parents. Japan loves you.”

“Thanks,” said Yuuri. He returned the smile. “I really miss the food. The Japanese food in St. Petersburg really isn’t the same.”

They landed in the dark early morning, but both of them were up and awake thanks to the time difference. Compared to the Pulkovo Airport, the Tokyo Narita airport was nearly empty. Yuuri pulled out his phone.

“Mom! Mom, I’m back in Japan. Oh! Did I wake you up? Sorry!” Yuuri’s Japanese flowed so quickly Victor lost track of the conversation.

“Tell her I say hi!” exclaimed Victor. He looked at their tickets. “Oh no…” Their gate was on the other side of the airport.

When they landed in Hasetsu (after another fan got a selfie with Yuuri at the airport), Yuuri ate a massive katsu bowl despite the fact that it was ten in the morning. Victor didn’t even mind. The man earned it after all these weeks.

“Wow, I am jetlagged.” Victor collapsed on the bed at the late hour of six o’clock in the evening. “Ready to train tomorrow?”

“Y-Yeah…” Yuuri turned off his phone and slipped it into his bag.

Makkachin yawned and curled up at the foot of their bed.

* * *

For the fourth time that day, Yuuri fell flat on his butt during a rotation.

“Focus!” Victor hissed. “We just practiced this routine yesterday.”

“S-Sorry.” Yuuri stood back up. It was still two months until the Japanese regionals, and it felt like there was so much to do.

“You can do it. Just concentrate.” Victor watched back a few feet away from the railing, his arms crossed.

Yuuri panted and skated before ending in a double Axel.

“Good. Can you try a Salchow?”

Yuuri continued his training routine. This continued for a bit before he fell down yet again, jumping back up immediately.

“Yuuri!” Victor was tempted to grab some skates for himself. “What’s the matter?”

Yuuri skated to a halt in front of Victor. “I-I don’t know.” He looked significantly crestfallen since lunch, and Victor never recalled him like this.

“What’s the issue? Is everything okay?”

“Everything  _seems_  fine. I just…keep tripping.”

“You were fine during your last practice.”

Yuuri sighed.

“What changed between then and—” Victor blinked. “Hold on, you didn’t read the article, did you?”

“It was in Russian.”

“Yuuri…”

“Google Translate didn’t really help.”

“You did read it!”

“I…”

Victor sighed. “That’s not helpful. All of those words are  _not_  true.”

“But what if they are?”

“But they’re  _not_.” Victor took both of Yuuri’s hands in his. “The entire world has seen you skate beautifully, dear. I  _know_  you’re a wonderful skater. Forget what everyone else says.”

Yuuri groaned and shook his head slightly. “Yeah, it’s just hard.”

“I know.” Victor released Yuuri’s hands. “One more! Then, we can stop!”

Yuuri executed the jump perfectly.

“Beautiful!” Victor clapped. “I think that’s enough for one night.”

Yuuri skated out of the ring and slipped off his skates. “How did I do?”

“You seemed a bit distracted earlier. But otherwise, you were excellent. Though, you need to come up with a theme and routine for your next season.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I have a few, but I’ll tell you back at the house.”

“Ahh,” said Victor. “I’m not sure about you but an entire day of coaching has left me starving. I’m ready to eat.”

“All you’ve done is stand back and watch me.” Yuuri grinned playfully. “Should  _you_  be eating katsudon?”

Victor chuckled and kissed Yuuri’s cheek, putting an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll put my skates on tomorrow and join you on the ice.” It seemed that the stress and anxiety surrounding the days after the interview had slipped away.

“Do you have a theme for  _your_  program this year?” Yuuri asked.

“Hmm. I'm not sure.”

They walked outside immediately to rows of flashing lights and crowds. Yuuri’s body tensed up. As figure skaters, both of them were used to sudden attention and paparazzi hounding them. However -

“I-I thought that they weren’t allowed remotely near the rink.”

“It must be a security lapse.” Victor kicked himself for posting that Instagram photo on the plane. That must have given the media plenty of time to travel to Japan. Victor took out his phone. “Crap, should we let Yuuko know?”

A few reporters shouted at Yuuri in Japanese, and he shrunk against Victor before snapping in frustration.

“Katsuki, what do you have to say about the article written by Evgeni Ivanov? Have you read it? Can you read Russian?”

A reporter shoved her way through the crowd and held up a  _Novosti_  microphone to Victor’s face. “Victor Nikiforov, what have you say about the article in response to your interview with Vasilieva a few days ago?”

A  _TASS_  reporter this time. “How will your frequent trips to Japan affect your performance this year?”

“You back off!” he snapped in Russian without thinking. Oh, now  _that_  is going to make the rounds on the Internet but at this point, who cared. Both of them just needed to get away from the cameras as soon as possible.

“Yuuri, have you seen if Victor’s performance is affected by his coaching you?”

“Can you tell if your coach has started to decline?”

Yuuri stepped in front of Victor and grabbed the reporter's microphone. “You  _be quiet_.”

The group of reporters fell deathly silent. The cameras stopped flashing. Even Victor closed his mouth, frightened.

“Victor is an amazing coach. I went from last to second in the Grand Prix Final because of his coaching,” he snarled. “He’s an even greater skater, and he skates better than he has ever done.”

“W-Well, Yuuri—”

“No, and you are amazing, and we’re both amazing skaters,” Yuuri said firmly. He bowed. “I apologize for being rude earlier, but that’s all I have to say about that.” He grabbed Victor’s hand and pulled him in the direction of his car.

“I can drive.”

Victor wordlessly handed him the keys, getting into the passenger seat.

“Are you okay?” asked Yuuri. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Victor blinked a few times. “Wow, that was…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get so angry.”

Yuuri frowned. “I-I didn’t mean to get so mad. It just sort of…happened.” He groaned, his head falling back. “Oh no, that’s going to be all over social media, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“Should we be worried?”

“Are you?”

“I…I’m not.” Yuuri put both hands on the wheel. “I’m…not sure why. I feel like I should be freaking out, but I’m…not.”

“Maybe yelling at those reporters strengthened your confidence.”

“Maybe. I don’t think I’ve yelled at anyone like that before.”

“How does it make you feel?”

“To those reporters? Good.”

“I think after this we both deserve a large bowl of katsudon. What do you think?”

Yuuri slipped his hand into Victor’s.


End file.
